Steve's Diary

September 23, 1936

Dearest Diary,

Where to begin.

Bucky is so... fuck. I don't even know what to say about him. I can't stop thinking about him. I don't want to stop, either.

Okay okay. It's wrong, I'll admire that much. Well, at least from a legal standpoint. But I've grown to not care for once.

We are so amazing together. We fit together like peanut butter and jelly, like two puzzle pieces, like yin and yang.

It's not just the whole sex thing, either. I mean, yea. I love making out. I love fucking and keeping it secret and exchanging looks and sneaking kisses. But there is so much more to it than this.

He's there for me. Through thick and thin. When I really need him most, he's there. I feel like my whole life there's been this hole. An un-fillable, black hole of absolute nothingness in the pit of my spirit. Now I realize that it's him. It's always been him... he is the key to everything in my life, or, the solution, rather.

For example... mom's not doing so good right now. Her tuberculosis is getting really, really bad. The worst part to me isn't even that she's dying and that she won't be there for me very soon. The worst thing is knowing and watching. I have to sit here helplessly and watch her wither away into nothing.

But he's here. He's been here for the whole time. It's him and I against the whole God damn world.

He comforts me when mom gets worse. He calls me when I'm sad and when I need someone to talk to. He comes over and spends the night when she's going through a bad spell and I need help caring for her.

He's incredible and I have no idea if I would have made it this far without him.

Here's to my buddy, my pal, my Bucky.

~ S. Rogers

p.s.
sorry if the words are a little smudged intermittently. I- uh, I was crying so the page got a little wet...